


can't control (this love)

by huphilpuffs



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Anxiety, Avatar: The Last Airbender AU, Earthbender Phil, Firebender Dan, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-War, bed sharing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 16:27:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17124782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/huphilpuffs/pseuds/huphilpuffs
Summary: Dan is an anxious firebender struggling to control his bending, sent to earthbender Phil who is well known for his stable and calm control.





	can't control (this love)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [INeverHadMyInternetPhase](https://archiveofourown.org/users/INeverHadMyInternetPhase/gifts).



> I really hope you enjoy this, Julia. I was certainly a pleasure to write.

Ba Sing Se is very … beige.

Dan sinks deeper into his seat at the thought. He tugs his hood over his head, pressing his face against the wall of the train. His knee bounces. His fingertips burn. He curls his hands into fists and sucks in a steady breath to keep from singing the sleeves of his tunic with his bare hands.

He shouldn’t be thinking such things. Before him lies a city that he knows fought valiantly, built itself back up after the war into something beautiful. It’s full of sloped green and yellow roofs and plants blooming in the summer heat, and Dan just wishes he was back home, where walls were made of dark metal and the air seemed to shimmer with sparks.

He’d never been to the Earth Kingdom. Though the war had ended and the four Nations now lived in peace as a single, United Republic, travel was still arduous, and Dan had never been particularly adventurous.

In front of him, a child is running up and down the aisle. Across from him, a man is reading a book, glasses perched now on his nose. Next to him, the seat is empty.

Dan swipes his fringe across his forehead and tries not to think too much about why.

The train shudders to a stop eventually. The people of the Earth Kingdom seem to stand in unison, and Dan feels clumsy on his feet when he shoots up a second later. He stumbles down the steps.

The ground here is sandy. He tries not to miss the stone from back home.

He glances down at the map he was given, following its path through the city, past a shop that smells of Jasmine and another with pottery on display. It’s not far from the train stop, the building with the Earth Kingdom symbol above it’s door. 

_ Master Phil’s Earthbending Academy,  _ is written on the sign.

Dan pushes the door open. A bell chimes above his head. A man with black hair and a beige shirt is standing there.

He smiles. “Dan, right?”

Dan can do nothing but nod.

\---

“You’re firebending Master speaks highly of you,” says Phil.

They’re sitting in a back room then, on cushions of plush green fabric. Dan’s fingers dig into his knees so he doesn’t fidget, so he doesn’t risk fire sizzling from his palms.

“I’ve been told I’m quite powerful,” he says. 

“As have I,” says Phil. Dan’s not sure if he’s talking about Dan or about himself. He doesn’t bother to ask. “It’s control you lack, correct?”

He nods. “That is correct.”

Phil’s smile quirks at just one corner of his mouth. “I can help you with that,” he says.

Phil stands slowly, steadily, and picks up the cushion he’d been kneeling on to toss it aside. Dan would laugh at it hitting the wall and falling atop a pot Dan’s fairly certain Phil hadn’t meant to touch, but he’d been told by his Master that Phil was someone to respect.

Master Lester, they’d called him back home, but Phil’s never mentioned his last name or his title.

He looks back at Dan, a hint of laughter in his eyes. “You can stand, too,” he says. “Actually, it would probably be better if you stood.”

Dan does. He grabs his cushion, too, and sets it aside more gently than Phil had, so the floor is empty. 

“I’d like you to show me your firebending,” says Phil.

Dan stomach sinks. He glances at the curtains open over windows and banners hanging from the ceiling, and tries not to think about the things he’s accidentally lit aflame back home, in a kingdom built for his element. Here, he thinks, he could burn far too much.

Phil must notice his frown. “You can stop it, can’t you?” he asks. And then, as though to prove his point, he opens his palm over the ground and raises a column of earth next to him, stopping at the perfect height to perch his arm on.

“Of course I can stop it,” hisses Dan. “I’m not a child.”

Phil jerks his head to the side, still smiling. “Well then, go ahead.”

Dan does. He punches forward so a burst of flames flies towards a bare part of the wall. And again just for the sake of it. His open palm makes a stream of fire shoot forward, and a practiced flick of his wrist sends it whipping towards the ceiling. A spinning kick has a ring of fire forming at his feet, expanding until–

“Okay, stop!”

Phil’s pressed against the wall then. His column of earth has disappeared, his smile faded. Dan collapses forward, unsteady on his feet. A last burst of fire explodes from his fingertips, but he manages to stop it before it hits a drape hanging on the far wall.

“Sorry,” he says, breath coming too quick.

“It’s alright.” Phil pushes himself off the wall, and side eyes a faint dark spot on one of his banners, where the fabric’s been singed black. 

Dan feels his cheeks burn. He curls his hands into fists to keep the embarrassment from forming fire.

“Sorry,” he repeats.

“Really, it’s alright,” says Phil. “I agreed to help train you.”

Dan tries not to feel small when he mumbles: “And?”

Another lopsided smile quirks at the corner of Phil’s mouth. “And I think I can,” he says.

\---

Phil’s set Dan up a room in his house.

It’s small, with a narrow bed wedged into the corner and little plants resting on the sill of a window looking over an alleyway. Phil’s leaning against the door as Dan drops his bag, haphazardly stuffed full of Fire Nation clothing, by the foot of the bed. 

“I know it’s not much,” he says.

Dan smiles. “I appreciate the hospitality.”

He goes to bow, but Phil waves a hand before he can. “It’s nothing,” he says. “Just don’t burn Poe.”

“Poe?”

A hint of laughter gleams in Phil’s eyes. He motions over Dan’s shoulder, towards the window. “The little plant,” he says. “He’s special to me.”

“Oh,” says Dan. He makes a mental note to always tuck his hand nearest the wall under his duvet before falling asleep, lest his dreams make him firebend. “I’ll keep him safe.”

“I appreciate that,” says Phil. He pushes himself off the wall. “There’s tea in the kitchen if you’d like any before bed. I’m sure you won’t need any help heating it up?”

Dan feels himself grin. “I’m sure I’ll be fine, sir.”

Phil nods, just once. “Goodnight,” he says, before turning around, walking away with slow, steady steps.

\---

“We’re going to start with breathing.”

Phil’s standing in the middle of the room when he says it, holding pebbles he picked up off the floor in his hand. He sucks in a deep breath, and sends one flying across the room into the furthest pot he has. Then the second, into a flowerpot he has by the door. And the third, which lands at Dan’s feet. 

Dan wonders, for a moment, if it’s supposed to be intimidating, but Phil just looks amused.

“I’m bad at breathing.”

Phil flicks his hand, and the stone at Dan’s feet flies back into his palm. “So I’ve been told,” he says. “But it’s important for firebending, isn’t it?”

He swallows. “It is, yes.”

“Then you’ll need to learn it,” says Phil.

He walks across the room, picks up one the cushions they sat on yesterday, and tosses it towards Dan. His aim’s off, so it lands a few feet away with a quiet thud. Dan walks over to get it, returning it to his spot in the middle of the room, Phil watching him the whole time.

Dan sits, legs crossed like they do back home.

“Do you expect me to breathe evenly while you stare?” he asks, perhaps a little more rude than his Master back home would permit.

Phil just grins, and picks up a second cushion. “Of course not,” he says. “I’m going to breathe with you.”

\---

They do nothing but breathe for the first day. 

Afterwards, Phil takes Dan out into the city, to a restaurant he likes to eat at when, in his own words, he’s too lazy to cook. They eat more vegetables in the Earth Kingdom, Dan notices, as he watches Phil stuff a dumpling into his mouth, grinning as he watches Dan sip his tea.

The second day, they breathe again.

For lunch, Phil makes soup on a fire he trusts Dan to maintain, reminding him to breathe every time the flames burn too bright. Dan’s pretty sure it’s a little overcooked by the end, and some of the broth boiled over the edge of the pot, but Phil doesn’t mention it.

The third day, they breathe  _ again.  _

Dan rests his hands on his knees and tries to count his breaths, slow counts of four and eight as he listens to the quiet puffs of Phil’s from across the room. He fidgets. He knows he does, his feet going tingly numb and his shoulders aching from sitting up straight.

“Stay still,” Phil says from across the room. 

When Dan opens his eyes, Phil’s are still closed. 

“I can feel the earth moving,” he says, like he knows Dan is staring.

Dan lets his eyes fall closed and tries to breathe again.

\---

The fourth day, Phil’s footsteps interrupt the silence.

It’s the first time he’s moved before calling for a break. Dan feels his chest go tight, his shoulders tense. He hears the hitch of his own breath, and the stilling of Phil’s steps in response.

“Breathe,” he says.

Dan swallows, nodding. He counts to four in his head, lips moving around silent words, before sucking in another breath. Phil’s footsteps echo in the room again, quiet, slow. Dan tries not to focus on the anxiety prickling at his spine.

He wonders if it’s his imagination, or if Phil’s really staring at him so intently.

The footsteps stop. Dan’s breath hitches mid-exhale. There’s a rustle of fabric behind him, and then a hand on his shoulder.

“You’re still tense,” says Phil. He’s so close, suddenly, that Dan can feel a rush of warm breath against his ear. “Can I ask you something?”

Dan nods, holding his breath for a count of eight.

“Do you get anxious?”

He swallows. “You know I do. My Master must have told you.”

Phil hums. “He did,” he admits. “I wanted to hear it from you.”

Dan doesn’t ask why. He squeezes his eyes closed against the burn there, feeling his ribs shudder around another breath. The hand on his shoulder drifts down along his spine, slow and gentle, before settling on his side, splayed across his stomach.

“You breathe in your chest,” says Phil.

“Isn’t that where your lungs are?”

He laughs, still so close Dan can feel it. “Well, yes,” he says. “But you should breathe lower, deeper. It’s more centering.”

And then Phil draws away, stands up, and walks across the room, back to his own cushion.

If he notices the shakiness in Dan’s breathing, he doesn’t mention it.

\---

They leave the city on the seventh day.

Dan sits on a train just like the one he arrived on, watching the city grow smaller, sparcer, until they pass the wall and it seems to disappear altogether. Phil’s sitting next to him, leaning forward so they can look out the same window, their legs pressed together between their seats.

“It’s been a while since I’ve done this,” he says.

“Left the city?” says Dan.

Phil hums. “I used to do it all the time when I was in training,” he says. “But most of my students just learn at the academy. It’s easier that way.”

Dan hums back. He doesn’t mention that he never really left his academy, either. Doesn’t ask who trained Phil that way, and so successfully, if Dan’s Master is to be trusted.

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.” says Phil.

He sounds like he’s smiling, but Dan doesn’t turn to check.

\---

They end up in a small town outside Ba Sing Se.

The sandiness of the desert outside the city has sprouted small plants that dot the ground and a few small trees that surround the area. The houses are made of stone, with the same sloped roofs as they have in Ba Sing Se. Just next to the train, there’s a man selling produce with a smile.

Dan tries not to dip his head, to hide, as he steps off the train. The red of his fire nation clothing seems too obvious now, where everything blends in shades of green and brown.

“Master Phil,” says the man. “I didn’t know you were visiting.”

Phil smiles. “It’s a surprise,” he says.

The man nods, grinning back, and presses a finger to his lips.

“Who are we surprising?” asks Dan where they’re a few steps away and it doesn’t feel so much like the blaze of his tunic is a burn on the earth tones of the town.

“My parents,” says Phil.

“Oh.” Dan glances around. There’s an old woman sitting on a chair outside her house, and a little kid building a castle made of dirt. “They live here?”

“They do.” He turns to face Dan. “Don’t worry, though, I didn’t just bring you here for family dinner.”

“Oh,” he says again. “Dinner?”

\---

Mr. and Mrs. Lester are kind people, cloaked in green and wearing smiles. 

They draw Phil into a hug the moment he walks through the door, mumbling about how he should have told them he was coming, and especially that he was bringing company. Phil’s dad smiles at Dan as his mum hugs him and it feels silly, to be standing in the doorway of a makeshift family reunion.

And then Kath looks up at him, grins and says: “Oh, is this your new student?”

Phil’s cheeks go the softest shade of pink. “Yeah, uh, this is Dan,” he says. “It’s his first time in the Earth Kingdom.”

“Besides the last week in Ba Sing Se,” says Dan. His teeth click together when he closes his mouth, and Phil puffs out a quiet laugh. “I mean, uh, yeah. It’s nice here. And nice to meet you guys, Mr. and Mrs. Lester.”

They both shake his hand. Dan realizes, only as they’re pulling away, that he probably should have bowed.

“Would you guys like some tea or are you delving straight into training?” asks Phil’s mum.

“I think we’ll do some training first,” says Phil. “I want to take him out to the– you know.”

She smiles. “Of course.”

Phil turns to him. His smile looks a lot like his mum’s. “Is that okay with you?”

Dan nods.

\---

Phil leads him out of the town, past some trees, to a clearing.

Dan can still see the houses from where they’re standing. He can still tell where the train tracks cut across the landscape, where the man with the produce stand is probably still standing. The trees around them seem cut into a circle, perfectly cleared. The ground is almost perfectly flat.

“Uh,” he says. “Where are we?”

Phil walks to the center of the clearing, grins at Dan, and steps into a bending stance. He doesn’t do anything fancy, or violent, or flashy. He just traces a circle in the earth around him, so thin it looks like he could be doing it with his fingertip.

Dan realizes only then that, for his bending Master, he’s hardly seen Phil bend at all.

He’s smiling when he looks up, the sun reflected in his eyes. “This is where I learned to bend.”

Dan feels his mouth fall open. “Oh,” he says, but it sounds more like a breath.

The corners of Phil’s eyes crinkle. “It’s meant to be a blank canvas of sorts, where the village kids can learn without messing anything up in town,” he says. “My parents started teaching me when I was young. My brother has a little bit more of a temper than I do. He used to get so annoyed when I could control things more.”

“Is that why Master sent me to you?” asks Dan. He hopes it sounds teasing. Phil seems to think it does.

“Because I could move rocks without getting mad when I was a kid?” he says. “Probably not. At least I hope not, or all those years of training afterwards were a big waste of time.”

Dan’s pretty sure he sounds more sincere than he should when he says: “They definitely weren’t.”

Phil smile softens. He steps aside, leaving the center of the circle to beckon Dan towards him. If his knees were more bent, his elbow a little straighter, a stone may come flying past Dan’s head, into his palm. The thought makes Dan smile. 

He should ask Phil to bend in front of him sometime. He’s always enjoyed watching Masters.

Dan’s toes scuff the ground as he steps into the middle. 

“So, uh, why are we here?” he asks. “Scared I would burn the academy down?”

Phil chuckles. “Not at all,” he says. “Sit down.”

Dan does, folding his legs underneath him, crossing his hands over his lap. He wonders if Phil ever did the same, next to a brother, looking up at his parents and waiting for his earliest instructions on how to make the ground move. 

Next to him, Phil sits down too, so close that their knees bump together.

“The thing is, I can’t really teach you how to bend the way I do my usual students, but earthbending and firebending are pretty similar,” he says. “Your Master sent you to me to improve your control over your bending. In my experience, the best way to do that is to ground yourself.”

His brows furrow. “How? I can’t exactly feel the earth like you can.”

“You can’t,” says Phil. “But you can focus on the world. Grounding yourself doesn’t have to mean to the actual ground.”

He reaches forward and rests a hand on Dan’s knee, squeezing gently with a reassuring smile.

“Just do your breathing again, and focus on how things sound, how they feel. Trust me when I say it can help.”

Dan wants to ask how he knows, what he knows about Dan’s trouble with controlling his fire, but Phil squeezes his knee again and stands before he can utter a word. He walks across the circle, until he’s standing outside the perimeter he drew, and turns back to smile. 

“Go ahead, breathe,” he says.

“Are you going to watch me?”

He shrugs. “I’ll try not to.”

\---

If Dan were back home, he’d hear the crackle of fire, feel the heaviness of humid heat on his skin.

Here, he listens to the rustle of leaves through the trees, the distant squeals of children in the town. A train has come and gone since he sat down, and every now and then, he can hear Phil’s footsteps, circling around him at a constant distance in a way that makes anxiety prickle along Dan’s spine. 

He adjusts his hands on his thighs, sucks in another deep breath.

The Earth Kingdom is hot, too, though it’s more arid than the Fire Nation is. Dan’s mouth can gone dry from the breaths he’s taken. His palms are moist with sweat. When the wind picks up, specks of sand hit his face, just enough to make his skin sting.

Part of him wants to move.

He takes another deep breath, in through his nose, out through his mouth.

His body feels heavy now, rooted to the ground. Even moving his hand to wipe the sweat from his palm feels like too much work. He’s pretty sure his eyes will burn when he opens them, the desert sun still beating down on him as the afternoon drags on. 

A hand lands on his shoulder.

He jumps. Phil’s looking down at him, smiling.

“Feel grounded?” he asks.

Dan clenches his fist. His fingers feel almost numb, but steady. “Yeah, actually.”

“Then bend.”

“What?” says Dan.

Phil tugs at the fabric of Dan’s tunic, drawing him to his feet. “Bend,” he repeats. “See how your control is now.”

He steps away again, giving Dan a silent thumbs up from the sidelines as Dan adjusts his stance, lowering his center of balance, drawing his hands together in front of his chest. When he punches the air, a ball of flames erupts, flying forward until a pillar of stone rises to stop it.

“Keep going!”

So Dan does it again, with an open palm this time, so a stream of fire bursts forth. He can control it this time, whipping it towards the ground and letting it fizzle out upon contact.

He does the same with his right hand before kicking forward, making another ball of flames that Phil stops with his earthbending.

The flames still burn brighter, more violently than he’d want, but when Dan plants both feet on the ground again, no sparks fizzle at his fingertips.

“That was great!”

Dan turns on his heel. Phil’s grinning, so wide and happy it has some of the rush fading. His breathing slows. He feels himself smile, too.

“It helped,” he says. “It actually helped.”

\---

They have soup for dinner.

Mr. and Mrs. Lester tell stories of Phil’s childhood. They talk about when they moved into the city for the sake of Phil’s training, and about moving back after the academy had been set up. They ask about Dan’s life back in the Fire Nation, about his family, his Master, and how he’s liking the Earth Kingdom. 

Phil asks if they can come back next week, and his mum assures him that they most certainly can as she draws him into a goodbye hug.

And then they get on the train back to the city.

It’s emptier this time, just a few people dotting seats. Dan sits by the window, head resting against the wall as Phil slides into the seat next to him. Their knees knock together, their shoulders bumping. Dan may be wrong, but he feels like they’re closer this time.

“Was that too much?” asks Phil, once the train has drawn away and the town has faded into the blur.

Dan looks over. His smile feels sleepy. “No, not at all.”

“Okay,” says Phil. “I just realized I probably should have warned you before taking you to my parents’ house.”

Between them, Dan nudges their feet together, pressing himself closer to Phil. There’s a strange urge to reach out, squeeze Phil’s knee like he’d done to Dan earlier, but he clenches his hand into a fist against his own thigh instead. It feels simpler that way.

“It was fun,” he says. “Tiring, but fun.”

Phil’s responding smile is soft. “You should nap. I’ll wake you up when we get there.”

Their legs are still pressed together when Dan drifts off to sleep.

\---

The next week follows the same routine.

They practice breathing, have lunch, and practice breathing again. Dan watches Phil host classes for young earthbenders in the afternoons, kids who accidentally slam rocks into the walls and raise pillars to the ceiling. It almost makes Dan feel better about his own lack of control as he tries to muffle his laughs against his shoulder.

It makes him understand why his Master sent him to Phil, as Dan watches him steady young teenagers.

They play games at night. Some nights it’s Pai Sho, on a board that once belonged to Phil’s grandfather, with the clumsy strategy of two people who’ve really learned how to play. Others, it’s cards, arranged on the table between them as they sip tea and share stories.

One night, Dan introduces Phil to gambling like they do in the Fire Nation, though Phil refuses to bet on anything more important than who pays for lunch the next day.

Phil tells him about his aunt who tailors clothing and his grandma who claimed to be psychic. Dan tells him about his younger brother who can’t bend but plays Kuai Ball better than Dan ever could and his nana who’s always tried to teach him balance, though he never seemed to learn. 

On the weekend, they go back to Phil’s parents’, meditating in a clearing before eating soup around the dining table.

They sit on the train back home together, pressed close and staring out the same window.

At the end of the night, Dan’s hand hovers over his doorknob as he whispers: “Goodnight.”

The lights from outside allow him to see Phil’s smile. “Goodnight,” he says, and then slips into his bedroom.

\---

“We’re going to try something different today.”

It’s Monday morning, the sun high in the sky over Ba Sing Se.

“I think we need to work on your balance, too,” says Phil. “Watching you bend, you seem a little shaky. It could impact your control.”

Dan picks at the belt tied around his waist. It’s silly, he thinks, that he cheeks flush at the observation, as though he doesn’t already know. When he was young, the force of bending would send him falling backwards sometimes, so he’d scrape his palms and send his fire flying forward.

“Probably,” he says. “I can be, uh, kind of clumsy. I blame the growth spurt.”

A smile cracks across Phil’s face. “I can relate,” he says. “I’m quite clumsy myself.”

“You’re literally the most steady earthbender I know,” says Dan.

Phil’s response is a laugh, quiet and happy and growing familiar. “How many earthbenders do you know?”

“Uh.” His cheeks get warmer. He can feel the morning sun hot against his right cheek, can see it gleaming in the corner of his vision. “I’ve met a bunch of kids.”

“Some of them are probably steadier than me,” says Phil. “In everyday life, at least. I only have balance when bending. I learned to ground myself for it.”

“Grounding has way too many definitions in earthbending.”

Phil’s smile widens, even as he rolls his eyes. It makes Dan’s chest go tight.

“Just come here,” says Phil

Dan does.

He ends up facing away from Phil, only a few inches between them.

“Get into your bending stance,” says Phil. He’s so close, it’s barely a whisper against Dan’s ear. 

He didn’t mean to be this close. It feels like it’d be weird to step away now. Dan’s not even sure he wants to. Having Phil’s voice so close, he realizes, isn’t uncomfortable. 

Not in the way he would have expected, at least. 

He bends his knees, settling onto his heels, bringing his hands in front of his chest. Every move starts from here, he learned when he was just a kid. His power is centered here, in the press of his fist to his palm, the balance of his frame over the ground.

“Good,” says Phil. 

Dan bites his lip, ignoring the goosebumps that rise along his spine.

And then Phil’s hands settle on his hips. Dan has to swallow to keep from making a noise, has to focus to keep his hands from falling to his sides.

“You’re tall,” says Phil, like he doesn’t notice a thing, “So you need to lower your center of balance more than most people.”

He presses against Dan’s hips, gently, lowering him ever so slightly.

“Is that better?” he asks.

“Do you feel steadier?” says Phil.

Dan swallows. He doesn’t feel steadier at all. Even his insides feel shaky now, his pulse stuttering where it thuds in his throat, his fingers quivering as he keeps them clenched in a fist. Phil’s breath is still warm against the back of his neck, his hands still resting at Dan’s sides, as though waiting to adjust him more, if needed.

“I, uh, I think so?”

Phil draws back then. Dan counts enough footsteps to reach edge of the room. 

“Try to bend, then,” says Phil.

Dan hesitates before shifting his weight, leaning back so he can kick his foot up and make a ball of flames fly through the air.

He feels like he might fall over, like he did when he was little.

It’s not the fire’s fault this time.

\---

Phil buys lunch that day.

They sit across from each other at a table in the corner of the room, with bowls of noodles and cups of tea. For the first time in a long time, they don’t really talk.

Dan can still feel the phantom press of Phil’s palms against his body.

He tries not to imagine it lasting longer.

Under the table, their legs brush together. Over the edge of his cup, he can see Phil’s cheeks go pink.

He tries even harder not to wonder if Phil’s thinking about it, too.

They slip out of their seats at the same time, and fall into step on the walk between the restaurant and the academy.

Their shoulders press together.

Dan doesn’t pull away.

\---

“Can I ask you something?”

Dan says it on a Thursday night, when the sky has fallen so dark that their lazy game of cards is lit up only by the torch he lit earlier. He’s curled up on his side on Phil’s living room floor, splayed over cushions they dragged in from the academy.

Phil throws a card into the space between them.

“Of course,” he says.

He fidgets with his own cards for a second, before resting a card with the earthbending emblem in its center down. 

“Has it been weird, spending so much time with me suddenly?” says Dan. “I mean, you must have had a life before this.”

Phil laughs, muffling it with a sip of his cherry-berry lemonade. “Debatable.”

“What does that mean?”

He shrugs. “I just, didn’t have much to do, I guess? I don’t have many friends,” he says. “I’m quite the introvert, I guess.”

“Oh,” says Dan. “I, uh, same.”

Phil’s next card has the airbending symbol on it. Dan’s has fire.

“Can I ask you something else?”

Phil giggles. The firelight flickers across his cheekbones and makes the yellow flecks in his eyes stand out. “Go ahead.”

“Has it felt, I don’t know, intrusive to have me here?” says Dan. “You know, since you’re an introvert.”

He hums, and rests a card with another firebending emblem into the game. “Honestly?”

“Of course.”

Phil looks up. He’s smiling, soft and sweet, the kind reserved for quiet nights in, rather than the excitement of bending. His finger is tracing the edge of his playing cards, and though it’s been days, Dan can still feel the foreign touch of Phil’s hands on his hips.

He tries not to think too hard about why.

“I like it,” says Phil. “I feel like we, I don’t know, work well together. It doesn’t really feel like your a stranger, or even a student, in my house, you know?”

Dan swallows, nodding. He wonders if the tinge of pink on Phil’s cheeks is a blush or from the orange of the fire.

“Yeah,” he says, “I know. It feels like we’re … friends?”

Phil smiles wider. “Yeah, friends.”

\---

That weekend, they stand in the clearing outside Phil’s hometown again.

Dan watches the last of his flames die out, crashing against a pillar Phil makes rise and fall in the span of a minute. He’s lunging forward, palm splayed wide, thrust in front of him. His chest is heaving. He’s pretty sure it’s the longest stretch he’s bent for.

The longest he’s gone without losing control.

He settles back, standing up straight, watching the sand blow in the wind before him.

“You’re doing really well,” says Phil.

Dan can hear his smile before he sees it.

“Thanks to you.”

There’s a rush of earth as Phil smoothes out the circle he’s redrawn on the ground. By this point in his training, Dan’s supposed to try to kill his fire before it reaches outside the boundary, and he usually manages.

“That was all you, mate,” says Phil. He reaches the middle of the circle, bumping their shoulders together. “At this rate, you’ll be ready to go back to the Fire Nation soon.”

Dan swallows around a bittersweet rush in his chest at the thought.

“Yeah.” 

They start walking towards the town, shoulders still standing side by side. 

“We’re having dinner with your parents again, right?”

Phil grins. “We are. But, fair warning, if it’s not great it’s because my mum is trying to follow a Fire Nation recipe tonight,” he says. He looks up at Dan, their arms brushing, his face so very close. “She said she wanted to do something to remind you of home, since you’ve been here so long.”

Dan feels his face flush as he mumbles: “Oh.”

The responding laugh is pressed against his shoulder, and sounds almost like a giggle. It makes Dan’s cheeks go even hotter.

“Thanks for the warning,” he says, because he can’t think of anything else. “Now I can figure out how to thank her before she tells me.”

\---

They go home that night with leftover bread.

Mrs. Lester hugged them both goodbye, whispering to Dan that she hoped her rice wasn’t too different from what they serve in the Fire Nation. Mr. Lester had shaken his hand with a kind smile. They’d shoved a bag into Phil’s arms and sent them to catch the train back to the city.

It’s another quiet ride, pressed together, watching the now-familiar desert landscape.

When they get home, Dan whispers: “Goodnight.”

Phil’s smile is crooked, warm even in the darkness, as he says it too.

Dan slips into his bed, tucking himself under his blankets, and wonders when he started thinking about Phil’s house as home.

\---

He wakes up with a hand on his shoulder.

It takes him a moment to realize Phil’s shaking him, saying his name over and over by his ear. And another beat too long to process the crackling of fire sounding loud, too close to his ear.

“Fuck!”

He’s sitting up. Phil’s dragging him out of his bed, away from the drapes that Dan apparently lit on fire. In his sleep.

“ _ Fuck. _ ”

Phil waves a hand. From the stone walls rise a little bubble of earth. Dan realizes only when Phil returns the room to normal that it choked out the fire on the now-charred curtains.

“Fuck,” Dan says again. “I’m so sorry. I thought that stopped happening.”

There’s another tug at his shoulder. Phil’s still clutching at his sleep shirt, still trying to pull him away from his bed, away from where the flames had blazed. Phil’s hair, Dan realizes, is a mess atop his head. His eyes are too wide, a little unfocused. The fire must have woken him up.

Dan stumbles to his feet, because Phil obviously wants him too.

He doesn’t expect Phil to wrap his arms around him, hold him close.

“You scared me,” he says, the words muffled against Dan’s shoulder. “Why didn’t you tell me you sleep firebend?”

“It hasn’t happened in a while,” Dan hears himself say. It must be the shock that has him being so honest. Or maybe it’s the way Phil’s pressed against him. “I– we were working on my control back in the Fire Nation and that, at least, had gone away. I thought it was safe.”

Phil squeezes him even tighter. “You are safe,” he mumbles.

Dan’s pretty sure Phil’s trying to reassure himself.

\---

They curl up together in Phil’s bed.

Dan almost protested. Only the drapes were burned, after all. The bed’s fine. But Phil’s still clinging to him, and Dan likes the warm press of someone against his chest.

Of  _ Phil  _ against his chest. 

The sky’s started to swirl in shades of pink outside. It must be bleeding into morning, the time when they’d drag themselves out of bed to have breakfast before doing breathing exercises in the academy. This is comfier, though. It’s better.

It feels like Phil’s practicing breathing exercises to stay calm. 

So Dan slides his hand into Phil’s hair.

“I’m okay, I promise,” he says. “You put out the fire and it’s okay.”

Phil nods, pressing himself tighter against Dan’s chest as though the louder echo of his heartbeat is reassuring. Maybe it is. Dan’s fingers, now rubbing gentle circles against the back of Phil’s head, seem to be. Some of the tension bleeds from Phil’s shoulders.

It feels less like a panicked hug, suddenly. More like cuddling.

“Can I tell you something?” says Phil.

Dan smiles at the ceiling. “Of course.”

“You know how I asked if you had anxiety when we first met?”

“Yeah,” whispers Dan.

Phil’s fingers drift up along Dan’s side, gentle, almost shy. They’ve only ever really touched during lessons, haphazard adjustments of Dan’s stance, of his breathing. This isn’t that. Dan knows it isn’t that when Phil’s hand presses flat against the splay of his ribs as though to feel the rise and fall of his breathing.

“I used to have anxiety,” says Phil. “I was terrified of the city, didn’t talk to people much. It’s part of why I’m so good at teaching control. I had to, you know, relearn it for my own bending.”

Dan’s hand clenches against the back of Phil’s head. It must be comforting, because Phil hums, nestling even closer to him.

“One of my friends died,” he continues. “In a bending accident. Freak thing, but I was so scared.”

“I’m sorry,” Dan whispers. “That’s terrible. I– I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything.”

He tilts his head up, still pressed against Dan’s shoulder, still so very close. 

“I just wanted you to know,” says Phil. “That’s why I– you scared me.”

“Okay.” Dan reaches up with his free hand, resting it on top of Phil’s. “You can be scared. You don’t always need to be in control, you know.”

Half a smile quirks at the corner of Phil’s mouth. It’s enough.

Dan keeps holding him.

And that’s enough, too.

\---

It takes a few days for them to recover. 

They don’t practice bending during those days. There’s breathing exercises for a little while, and then just life. Phil takes Dan shopping the first day, to some of the nicer stores in Ba Sing Se, and then to lunch at a restaurant he loves but rarely goes to.

He buys new drapes that day.

Dan still doesn’t sleep in his own bed.

But when he curls up against Phil’s back at night, he doesn’t care to complain.

Phil still teaches his classes in the afternoon, going through rudimentary earthbending while Dan sits in the corner and watches, not bothering to hide his smile.

They play Pai Sho in the evenings.

And on Thursday, when they go to bed, Dan doesn’t question it when Phil leads him to his bedroom, so they can curl up side by side again. 

\---

“Do you know what you were dreaming about? That night?”

Dan cracks one eye open. They’re supposed to be breathing, balancing on one leg, but Phil’s standing in front of him with a curious furrow to his brow, both feet flat on the ground.

“The night of the fire?”

Phil nods.

“Not really. I didn’t even remember that day, to be honest,” says Dan. He lets himself stand normally again, and stops the rhythmic counting of his breaths. “I was thinking about going back to the Fire Nation when I fell asleep though, so maybe that.”

It feels wrong to admit. His cheeks go warm. Phil’s brows furrow further.

“Do you not want to go back?” he asks.

Dan shrugs. “It’s not that, really. I like it there. I just–”

“Just what?”

He feels himself smile, watching Phil mirror it. 

“I just like it here, a lot. Uh, with you.”

Phil’s smile goes brighter. It seems to shine in his eyes. Dan feels it, hot and fluttery, in his stomach.

“I like you here, too.”

\---

They go back to the clearing on Sunday.

It’s the first time Dan’s actually firebent since the incident, in a desert without drapes or duvets to light aflame. He’s almost surprised to find his control hasn’t dimmed. He can still stop his flames before they reach the perimeter, can still keep them from blazing too bright.

“You’re doing great,” says Phil.

He doesn’t bother to erase the circle before stepping towards Dan this time. His hands land on Dan’s shoulders, rubbing gently at the muscle there.

“You’re less tense,” he says. “And you’re breathing well. And you’re in tune with nature more. You’re doing … good.”

Dan grins. “So you’ve said.”

Phil’s response is a smile. He looks up, his eyes bright, gleaming in the desert sunlight. “I’m proud of you.”

His hands are still on Dan’s shoulders, holding on too tightly. For a moment, it looks like he might cry. Dan blinks against the realization that he might, too.

“Why does it feel like you’re saying goodbye?” he whispers.

“I could be?” says Phil, voice shaky. “You could go back now, finish your training with your Master. You have control.”

He doesn’t let go. Dan reaches for him, just in case. His heart is racing, aching.

“What if I don’t want to say goodbye?”

Phil smiles at that, soft and hopeful. “Then can I do something?” he asks.

Dan smiles back. “Go ahead.”

The hand on his left shoulder drifts, cradling the back of his neck so Phil can draw him forward. Their smiles meet. Dan’s eyes drift closed.

And they’re kissing.

\---

The train back home is almost empty that night.

Phil’s head is resting against his shoulder, his hand on Dan’s forearm. They don’t look out the window. Dan’s too busy wondering if he should hold Phil’s hand, if that’s something they do now that they’ve kissed.

“I was thinking,” says Phil, “That maybe you don’t have to go back to the Fire Nation right away?”

“Yeah?” says Dan.

Phil hums. “You could stay with me. The war’s over, there’s firebending Masters in Ba Sing Se. I know it’s not your Master, but you could try to finish your training,” he says. “And we could set up your old room to be a guest room. I know it’s a long trip, but if your family wanted to visit, they could stay in there.”

He lifts his head. Dan turns to catch how blue his eyes look in the low light of the night train.

“Unless you’d want it back, of course.”

Dan chuckles. Without looking away, he slips his hand into Phil’s. “I wouldn’t want it back.”

Phil’s teeth catch at his lip when he smiles. “Okay,” he says. “So you’ll stay? At least for a little while?”

It’s Dan that leans down to kiss him this time.

And it’s him who pulls away to mumble: “I’ll stay.”

\---

He doesn’t want the day to end when they get home. Neither does Phil, apparently, as he suggests they have tea before bed.

Dan warms the kettle with his firebending, standing in the middle of Phil’s house of stone. They sip tea on the sofa without any games to play, without any distractions.

And when they slip into bed, curled up under a dark sky and Poe the potted plant, now resting on Phil’s windowsill, they kiss goodnight.

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks to TortiTabby and Maetaurus for beta'ing this for me. Come say hi on tumblr [@huphilpuffs](huphilpuffs.tumblr.com).


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